“Don’t you dare accuse me of lying. I’m telling you the truth. That’s what he said on his deathbed, just before he begged me to bring you home. He said, ‘Roy was a good boy, and he still is, because a father just knows.’”
Roy was a complicated tornado of emotions at hearing this testimony. Despite what he accused of her, he could tell that she was telling the truth, and knowing what his father really thought of him brought him a happiness and relief that he never thought he could experience again. At the same time, those feelings were squashed by the reality that he would never have the opportunity to reconcile with his father. He might have said those things, but he didn’t say them to Roy, and now he would never have a chance to.
And Roy would never get a chance to tell him how he really felt, either. That was the finality of death. There was no way to go back and say what was left unspoken. A fresh wave of grief flooded through Roy as he came to that sobering realization.
Cora was still standing there, persistently offering him the key, and Roy silently surrendered, taking the key and pocketing it. He didn’t know how to properly thank her for everything—for taking care of his father when he was sick, for being with his father as he died, for risking her safety to travel alone to delivering such difficult news, so he did the only thing he could think to do, and took the key from her outstretched hand.
Roy watched her walk toward her front door and didn’t take his eyes off her until she was safely inside the house and had shut the door behind her. Before leaving, he pulled the old familiar key out of his pocket and held it in his open palm. He stared at the key for a long time, and for just a moment, he felt the sudden urge to head toward his father’s house. But he quickly pushed that thought out of his mind, shoving the key out of sight into his pocket, and turned his horse back in the direction of Wheats Ridge.
Chapter Seven
When Cora stepped inside her house, she was so frustrated with Roy Burns’ lack of respect for his father that she almost didn’t notice her own father sitting calmly in the chair of the sitting room, his hands folded in his lap. She jumped when he cleared his throat to catch her attention. He had been waiting for her.
She had been so absorbed in her frustration with Roy that she neglected to remember the minor detail that she had taken this trip today against her father’s wishes and returned home much later than she originally intended.
Her original plan was to be home well before dark and before her father finished his day of work. With Wheats Ridge being almost three hours away by horse-drawn wagon, and with her having left early in the morning, beating her father home had certainly been doable. She had planned to deliver the news, instruct Roy to return at his earliest convenience, and then she would hitch another ride back and make it home before supper.
But that plan had been thrown off its trajectory when she went and stepped in a hole, sprained her ankle, and had to spend the remainder of the day resting in dirty sleeping quarters for ranch hands.
She decided right then and there she wouldnotbe telling her father that part.
“Pa, I am so sorry—” Cora began her contrition, but her father held out a hand to stop her. She didn’t dare continue.
“There are no words that you can say to justify this disobedience, Cora. You cannot begin to have any inkling of an idea how worried I have been. I knew the moment I returned home from lunch, after not seeing you around town all day like I normally would, that you disobeyed my wishes. That you took off, a young woman, by herself, to a town known for its vagabonds. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is for a father?”
So, she was never going to get away with it, even if she hadn’t hurt her ankle. Cora hung her head in repentance. Her father was right that there was nothing she could say at this moment to assuage his anger at her disobedience and the fear she had put him through all day. But at the same time, she had a deep urge for him to understand. She was not acting out of disobedience just for the sake of being contrary to his wishes. She had genuinely been trying to do what was right.
“I made a promise to Pastor Burns, Pa,” Cora said remorsefully, not looking her father in her eye. “I would not have been able to live with myself if I failed him.”
He squeezed the bridge of his nose in exasperation, the anger in his voice evident but diluted with exhaustion. “Cora, are you really so arrogant as to believe that you are the only person capable of getting a message out to Roy Burns about his father’s passing?”
Cora suddenly felt foolish. Surely when the pastor said to bring his son home, he didn’t mean for her to literally to travel alone to Wheats Ridge. She could have written a letter, included the key in the envelope, and arranged for it to be mailed by post the moment she discovered where Roy was living. She could have arranged for a trustworthy man, perhaps Philip Hawthorne, who first told her about his whereabouts, to accompany her for safety. She shuddered at the thought in hindsight that she had hitchhiked alone as a young woman, and she thanked God that the man who gave her a ride was honorable.
Cora saw now that it was her own delusions of grandeur that had compelled her to take this lone odyssey to a strange town, and how had that worked out for her? She wound up injured and confined to a bed for the day. She thought about the other ranch hands, their behavior and the types of conversations they had with her in earshot, and it was only thanks to God’s protection—and perhaps the influence Roy had over the hands—that something truly awful did not happen to her while she was alone in those quarters.
And in the end, it was ultimately all for nothing. While Cora had to admit that Roy had eventually showed some signs of remorse for his father’s death, he was adamant in refusing the inheritance and land that had been left to him, and he was on his way back to Wheats Ridge at this very moment. Nothing of worth had been accomplished other than frustrating Roy and inconveniencing his day with her clumsiness.
“You’re right, Pa. I should not have gone. It was a foolish idea,” Cora conceded, kicking the floor with the toe of her boot as she looked down at the ground. “And I know I deserve to be punished for my disobedience.”
Her father sighed, leaning back in his wingback chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.
“Cora, you are not a child. You are too old for punishment,” he said softly, his anger seeming to wane. “These attempts at heroism—and I’m not just referring to today, but also the past month, when you spent all of every day at Pastor Burns’ when he had a perfectly competent doctor looking out for him—all of these things are the result of boredom, of idle hands. And I cannot entirely blame you for this—you are twenty years old and still unmarried, so it is natural that you have lost your way and are searching for a purpose.”
Cora strongly disagreed with her father that she was ‘losing her way,’ as he put it. She vehemently disagreed that her time caring for Pastor Burns was frivolous; she had made but one error in judgment, which was today’s trip. She otherwise made every effort daily to be a good Christian daughter, faithfully saying her prayers every morning and night, diligently reading the Scriptures and attending Sunday service in Magnolia Grove faithfully. She also dedicated each day to cleaning up after her father and cooking him three meals a day so he could focus on his work as a sheriff. Her hands were far from idle, and she told her father all of this.
“These are all noble tasks, and I am appreciative of your efforts. But you should be doing these things for and alongside a husband,” her father said, softly but firmly. “Look at your friends from your schooldays, Mary and Ruth. They have both been married for almost two years now, if I recall correctly.”
“Why should I do things on the same timeframe as them?” Cora demanded, irritation rising. She did not expect a repentant moment about one day’s disobedience to take this turn. Her father knew how she felt about marriage. “Neither of them married for love, but for convenience. And you know that’s not what I want.”
“It’s no longer about what you want, Cora, but about what you need. And what you need is a husband,” he said firmly, with conviction. “I can’t keep my eyes on you every second, not when I also have an entire town to keep safe. You have lost respect for me as your father; perhaps you will listen to your husband and allow him to keep you safe.”
Cora’s heart stopped and her blood ran cold at these words. It was obvious that he had been giving this idea serious thought for some time, and the time he’d had in solitude this evening waiting for her safe return only allowed him time to solidify this conviction. Cora knew she had to do damage control before she lost any control over her future.
“Pa, I promise you that is not necessary,” Cora pleaded. “You do not have to worry about me. I do respect you, and I will obey your wishes. Forgive me for today and allow me to make it up to you, to prove to you that I can do better. But please, do not think anything more about marriage. I’m not ready. I haven’t yet found love.”
Cora jumped in surprise as her father tossed the newspaper from his lap onto the ground in frustration. Her father was not prone to angry outbursts, so tossing the newspaper on the floor was his closest version of such. Cora leaned forward to pick up the paper, carefully folding it along its creases and setting it softly back on the coffee table.
“You cannot continue to say that you are not ready, Cora,” her father persisted with less annoyance in his voice now that he had taken out his frustration on the newspaper. “You have been saying that for the past three years, even after watching some of your closest friends from childhood marry husbands of their own. You are twenty years old already and not getting any younger.”
